


What I Want, You've Got

by Razzledazzy



Series: On An Island Called Piffling Vale [1]
Category: Wooden Overcoats
Genre: Anxiety, M/M, MAKING OUT IN A CASKET, Making Out, Phobias, Poor Life Choices, as a more general tag, brief mentions of a panic attack, minor antigone funn/georgie crusoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 00:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10231442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razzledazzy/pseuds/Razzledazzy
Summary: Somehow, the universe takes it upon itself to make Rudyard Funn's dreams come true.It goes about as well as you would expect.





	

Green waves crested the shore along a small channel island. The sun was setting over the sea, and the sky was full of wheeling seagulls crying out as they circled the island’s lone lighthouse that lay unoccupied since the death of its former inhabitant.

Altogether it was shaping up to a normal evening in Piffling Vale.

Upon closer inspection however, one would find that there was unusual amount of activity at Funn Funerals, one of the island’s two funeral parlors. Though it wasn’t always.

Rudyard Funn, the co-proprietor of Funn Funerals, was dealing with a most unusual occurrence. Someone not of the island had shown up in the shop and demanded to see him. Claiming it was of the utmost importance.

The customer, well, Rudyard assumed it must be a customer, because she hadn’t demanded to know where Eric Chapman was immediately upon entering the premises, was an older woman wearing a shawl over her head. There was a beaded covering over her face, all black, as if she had just popped in for a visit after another funeral.

As far as Rudyard knew, there hadn’t _been_ any funerals on the island today. No one had died for almost a week. Not totally strange, but slightly unusual since the arrival of Chapman.

Well, they couldn’t have serial killers running around the island all the time. The village (that was quite nearly a town) would dwindle to nothing at that pace of death and destruction.

“What can we help you with? Do you need to book a funeral? We have quite a selection of services here at Funn Funerals,” Rudyard asked, his customer relations voice entirely forgotten as he dryly asked the woman about her business.

“Well yes, I am here for a rather morbid reason I guess. I’m not sure about what’s involved in booking a funeral. However, I thought I’d cover my bases,” the woman responded in an ethereal voice.

Madeline squeaked into Rudyard's ear, he waved her off with a platitude, determined to seal this sale.

“Normally there’s a small down payment, then after the occasion the further expenses are drawn from remaining funds,” Rudyard rattled off, pulling a paper from a disorganized pile and handing it to the woman.

As he withdrew, she snatched his hand and ran her long bony fingers across his palm.

Out of reflex more than anything, Rudyard clamped his fingers down around her hand, trapping it there. There was a moment where he stared down, mouth agape with several emotions. Lifting each finger with individual effort, Rudyard looked away.

“Terribly sorry,” he chuffed in embarrassment. When was the last time that someone had touched him? The last skin-to-skin contact he could recall was probably the last time he had been slapped, _that_ was quite depressing.

“Oh it’s quite alright dear,” the woman, who had signed her name down on the paper as Alessandra Diazaroth at some point during this exchange, thought that name seemed quite outlandish for such a quiet woman if you asked Rudyard. She continued on as if nothing strange had happened at all.

Her fingers traced the lines of his palm, and worried expression took over her face. “Oh dear, you’ve been suffering quite a lot haven’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

The older woman reached up and patted Rudyard on the cheek, “Don’t worry. Your dreams will come true. Whether or not that is a good thing remains to be seen.”

At this point, Rudyard was justifiably filled with dread. As dreams go, his were rather bleak.

“That’s all unnecessary…”

The woman closed Rudyard’s fingers over his palm and patted them. “Nonsense consider it a part of my down payment.”

Rudyard looked incredulously down at the paper she handed back, entirely filled out already at some point during their exchange. He hadn’t even noticed her lifting the pen.

With that the woman patted his cheek and left the shop.

Suddenly drained, Rudyard collapsed into what was normally Georgie’s chair and rubbed his face.

“What the bloody hell was all that about?” he mused aloud. Madeline chattered her reply but he waved her off instead of listening. Grabbing a mug of cold tea left on one of the caskets, Rudyard downed the entire thing and leaned back. One day Rudyard would be able to pass a normal evening with no strange occurrences or interruptive visits.

One day.

Soon enough, he had drifted off in the chair.

 

* * *

 

Rudyard was in a coffin. Not that that was unusual of a location for him to be found. He’d slept in them on occasion… or regularly. The plush ones like this one were really quite comfortable.

This was one of the larger plush coffins, still made for one person. But a larger person.

He didn’t remember falling asleep in one.

But especially, he didn’t remember falling asleep in one with someone else. It slightly negated the plush factor of the deluxe coffin, especially since he was lying on top of that person.

Though that wasn’t a deal breaker exactly, the person was very accommodating, both soft and firm. Not really lumpy. Decently good for laying on. Better than his old mattress that Antigone (by means of Georgie) had taken upon herself to toss after Madeline made a formal complaint about its squeaky springs.

With a soft noise, Rudyard squirmed forward a little to get more comfortable. Mainly so he could tuck his face into whoever’s neck this was to alleviate the crick in his own neck.  

He ought to be more concerned about this, probably. As dreams go it wasn’t bad. He’d had much worse.

The person he was laying on breathed steadily, or at least they did until Rudyard accidentally elbowed them while getting comfortable.

“Umfph,” the puff of air sounded loud inside the dark enclosed space. Rudyard stayed quiet while his coffin mate adjusted.

“Well, this isn’t where I saw my night ending,” came the familiar, and buttery voice that Rudyard was utterly unsurprised to hear. It’s not like this was the first time he’d dreamt about being in a coffin with Eric Chapman. This was already much better than how it normally turned out.

“Chapman, shut up,” Rudyard sighed, voice empty of its normal vigor. At the moment, all he wanted to do was slip back into blackness of the void. He’d never felt so tired while asleep before.

“Rudyard? Is that you?” Chapman was moving now, disrupting Rudyard’s ability to slip into another dream.

“Yes, yes for fucks sake stop squirming. Who were you expecting? The mayor?” Rudyard gruffed, leaning to the side Chapman could free the arm he was trying to get from under them.

With slightly unsure fingers, Chapman reached behind Rudyard and felt along the top of the coffin.

“You seem rather calm about this!” Eric said, his voice taking on a sharp quality as he failed to feel a latch to release the lid.

Eric’s breaths started coming faster and shallowly as he pulled his other hand free and pushed against the lid. Rudyard winced when one of them came down to feel his head and find his way to his face.

“This is hardly a first for me,” Rudyard snorted openly, trying to adjust to Eric’s movements. In the end he settled for just snuggling closer. The faint scent of Chapman’s aftershave still clung to the hollows of his shirt. A sense memory that Rudyard didn’t even know he had until now. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

Eric’s frantic movements started to still as his fingers tangled in Rudyard’s dark hair. “You make a habit of sleeping in coffins with men then?”

“Yes, well no- I mean yes I’ve slept in a coffin before. No to sharing it. Though that’s not what I meant. I mean I’ve had this dream before,” Rudyard said. The movement of his mouth set his lips brushing against the skin of Eric’s throat.

Eric shook, and for a moment Rudyard worried the dream was changing. Or that Eric was starting to panic again. It took a moment for Rudyard to realize that Eric was in fact laughing quietly, “You’ve dreamt about being in a coffin with me before?”

“Once. It wasn’t very pleasant. You ended up being insufferable. It was more of a nightmare really,” Rudyard sighed, it was at this point he noticed that the dream was beginning to feel _very_ long.

“Rudyard…” Eric’s voice was quieter, the hand had left his hair and was now on the back of his neck.

Rudyard leaned into the touch, raising his head back so that he would be able to look at Chapman, had there been any light in the coffin. Huh, that was strange. Last time he had been able to see in the dream.

“Rudyard this isn’t a dream,” Eric’s voice sounded confident. Like he was absolutely sure there was no possibility of a universe existing where he was ever wrong about something.

Rudyard would have reeled back, had there been any room in the coffin to do so. Eric’s hand stayed firm on his neck, embarrassingly enough.

Eric’s other hand had crept around Rudyard’s waist, where it was resting now. Somehow, he hadn’t even realized when Eric stopped pushing against the lid with it.

“Are you sure?” Rudyard asked rather desperately. He was hyper aware of his body and every point where it was in contact with Chapman’s now, something that would have been impossible in a dream. He never could have imagined how it felt to be pressed so completely against Chapman.

It was, all around, a rather stimulating experience.

Before Chapman could respond, Rudyard came to his own conclusion. “Oh dear god,” he groaned, his entire body heating up with what was undoubtedly a horrendously ruddy blush. Hard to tell in the dark but he was reasonably sure.

As sure as Chapman was to notice his skin heating up under his fingers.

They had never been quite this close before and it was only making the situation worse for Rudyard. It was bringing all sorts of repressed feelings to the surface. The sort which only come out in the darkest hours of the night when you can barely admit them to yourself. Confronting your own mortality tended to do that.

How long had they been asleep in here? How much air was left in the coffin? It was a nicer one, so it was probably gasketed as well. Stupid Chapman and his superiorly manufactured caskets. They wouldn’t have this issue if it had been one that Georgie made, she always made sure to leave an unlock from the inside in case they buried someone not quite dead. (Or if someone decided to sleep in it. Which Rudyard maintained to Georgie and Antigone had only happened the one time as an accident.)

“We’re going to die down here,” Rudyard whispered, dropping his head back to Eric’s neck. Maybe if he went back to sleep this wouldn’t be happening. Or at least he’d wake up in the coffin alone. Or he’d die. That might be preferable to the present situation.

“Nice of you to finally realize the gravity of the situation,” Eric sounded rougher again, he was clearly beginning to panic again. Eric’s arm was like a steel band across Rudyard’s back, the tension radiating off of him as he tried to assess the situation and find some new way of approaching it.

“This is, of course, all your fault,” Rudyard said, the words slipping out of his mouth before he could consider their impact.

Eric spluttered, “Excuse me?”

Rudyard rolled his eyes, “Well, this is probably one of your caskets. Because it’s quite nice, and I know for a fact that Georgie builds a release latch on the inside of all Funn Funerals caskets  on principle. Also there’s probably another new mortician coming to town and instead of competing with both of us- mainly you if we’re being honest, they decided to off us both in one go. Why go through the trouble of murdering us and moving the bodies when they can just bury us alive?”

“That’s… that’s nonsense! I would know if a new mortician were coming,” Eric protested. “Besides, you’re about the only person on the island obsessed with efficiency Mr. ‘Get the body in the coffin in the ground on time’, congratulations you even managed to do it with your _own_ body.”

“Guess you’re right. Suppose it’s not the worst way to go,” Rudyard ventured, unsure of what to do with his own hands. Right now they were trapped between Eric’s chest and his own without much else place for them to go that wasn’t more… incriminating.

Rudyard had the feeling that Chapman was making some very uncomplimentary faces at him, and what he wouldn't give for evidence of those.

“You can’t just be okay with this!” Chapman said.

“I think that’s my business, and if you were paying attention, you would notice that I am not okay with this _Eric_ Chapman! I’m not okay with this at all, but I’m too busy worrying over your state to consider my own right now!”

Chapman was breathing hard again, which led Rudyard to believe that maybe he was going about this whole thing the wrong way. Yelling at someone who was already panicked was not likely to shock him out of it.

“You need to calm down or you’ll use whatever hours of air we have left,” Rudyard tried again, making a conscious effort to keep his voice… gentler. It was something he’d never done before, and he wasn’t sure how well he succeeded.

Apparently not well, because Chapman tensed up. He knee lifting up between Rudyard’s legs as he shifted.

 _Christ alive_.

Rudyard’s breath hitched as hitched as he bit down on an embarrassing noise. Thank god Eric was so wrapped up in his own issues with the dark and being trapped that he didn’t notice. The other mortician was definitely hyperventilating.

He had to do _something_ before Eric used up all their air.

“Chapman.”

Eric showed no sign of hearing him this time, or he was choosing to ignore him. It was frustrating either way.

“ _Chapman_.”

He was wrenching the hand trapped between their chest free, bracing it against the top end of the coffin so he could move around more to try and leave Chapman room to breath.

Maybe a different tactic would work, “ _Eric!_ ”

“ _What!_ ” Chapman shrieked in response.

Drastic times call for drastic measures. He wasn’t about to let Chapman panic himself to death. If they were going to die together. Rudyard was going to take the chance to get something off his chest first.  

With his other hand, he traced a line from Eric’s chest up his neck to cup his face in the dark. The side of his thumb just barely brushing against the soft skin of Eric’s lips. Taking a shallow breath of his own, Rudyard leaned down and pressed his lips to Chapman’s. Unsurprisingly, their noses bumped against each other in the dark, but it didn’t detract from the intensity of the feeling as Rudyard adjusted this kiss so that their mouths better aligned.

This would all be so much easier if there was some light.

Underneath him, Eric had stilled completely. If it weren’t for the steady thrum of his pulse beneath his hand Rudyard would be worried he had killed the man with the shock of it all.

Sheepishly, Rudyard pulled back, wishing he could see the expression on Eric’s face.

“What on earth? Do you really think now is the time for that?” Chapman exclaimed softly after a moment. At least his breathing was calming down again. The hand around Rudyard’s middle gripped the bunched up in fabric of his button up shirt like he was holding on for dear life.

“Now might be the only time,” Rudyard offered, his own voice sounding like a stranger’s. He was letting his emotions get the best of him, and for once in his life he didn’t care.

“Fair enough,” was Chapman’s only response before dragging Rudyard back down and crashing their lips into each other with far more force this time around.  

Rudyard’s hand slipped from Eric’s cheek and happily tangled in that damnable blonde hair, messing up the perfect wave that seemed to draw his eyes every time Chapman- every time _Eric_ passed.

If they were going to die together, they might as well do it on a first name basis.

Eric’s tongue probed past Rudyard’s lips, while at the same time his hand also moved to pull on Rudyard’s dark hair. Which was thicker and all together more unruly than Chapman’s was. Not that this was going to turn into a competition of all things.

Though it rather seemed that was what both men were trying to do.

With every move one of them made, the other desperately grappled for the upper hand in their kiss. Eric jerked on Rudyard’s hair hard enough to make him moan, and in turn Rudyard snaked a hand underneath Eric’s shirt to pinch his nipple. In retaliation, Eric went after Rudyard’s button up, popping the buttons loose (more than a fair few of them popping off the shirt entirely) to pull his shirt open. His hands finding purchase on the skin beneath. Skin that had possibly never seen the sun and was happy to be warmed by his hands.

Well, that was enough of that. There was no way of getting through all of Chapman’s vested ensemble. So Rudyard did the next best thing and started undoing his belt. The hands on his back curled and Eric’s fingernails scratched lines into Rudyard’s back.

There wasn’t much room in the coffin, so both men were getting rather sore elbows from bumping into the sides as they moved against each other. Nevertheless, they made it work. In no time at all Eric had managed to get through three layers of his own clothes and Rudyard tugged them as far down his shoulder as he could manage, sucking hickeys into the other man’s clavicle and neck.

Eric’s knee was still in a very suggestive position, and Rudyard was sure that the embarrassing reaction it had caused earlier was prominent enough for Chapman to feel.

Chapman’s hands hand found their way into Rudyard’s pants to grip his ass and pull him closer. To which Rudyard conveyed his overall enthusiasm for in the form of biting the junction between Eric’s neck and shirt as his own hands was back in Eric’s hair.

Eric gasped and bucked up as Rudyard rubbed a particularly pleasant way against him, and suddenly the entire world was turning and crashing down on itself. The earth spun, and out of surprise Rudyard bit down on the junction of Eric’s shoulder and neck with much more force than intended.

Several things happened all at once.

Eric yelled, “Christ above, Rudyard.”

There was the sound of muffled laughter and surprise.

Then he noticed that a crack of light was shining through the top half couch lid of the casket. Eric pushed at the casket lid, raising it open into the harsh bright light of the display room of his own funeral parlor. A view of the ceiling from the floor next to the coffin’s normal display table open above him.  

Rudyard was sitting up as well, wiping a smudge of blood from his mouth. It shouldn’t have looked attractive, but by all accounts this night was becoming a right mess for Eric Chapman.

It was then that he saw the modest crowd of faces peering in from the window looking out onto the square.

“Christ above,” Rudyard echoed, looking between Eric and everyone in the window.

He could see the Mayor and the Reverend, both with mirrored looks of glee on their faces. Several other notable townspeople, including the constable and more than one of the village hoodlums were present as well. Further away, Rudyard saw the telltale pale skin of his sister with a slightly shocked look on he face. Georgie was holding her hand and very nearly jumping up and down.

Eric sat up to look where Rudyard was staring, made a noise in the back of his throat and then looked at Rudyard.

For a moment everything else faded away for him. Eric’s very much tousled blond hair was everywhere and his lips were red and slightly swollen. He could see the marks he had left on Eric’s skin turning bright purple, aside from the bitemark. Which was still bleeding. An honest mistake. They were lucky that his teeth hadn’t been near anywhere else more _sensitive_ when the casket had fallen.

Here they were, half undressed. In front of half the bloody village, and exhilaratingly Rudyard couldn’t think of a single reason why that should bother him.

So he did the first thing he thought of.

He shrugged the rest of the way out of his shirt, threw it at the window, grabbed the top of the casket lid, and pushed Eric back down with another kiss careful not to close the lid entirely.

If the townspeople wanted a show they’d have to wait for the fallout of his rash decisions just like everyone else.

 

* * *

 

“Georgie, I’m not sure this was the best plan.” Antigone ventured.

Georgie smiled, “What? I’m great at making people realize their feelings for each other.”

Antigone gave her a look, the streetlamps reflecting off her pallid skin sharply.

“Yes, but your plan involved paying an actor, using information I told you about in confidence to build a nightmare scenario for my brother and then you drugged and trapped him with the most popular man in town in a bloody casket,” Antigone whispered loudly.

Georgie shrugged and pointed back towards the casket which was closed but not altogether still, “It worked out didn’t it?”

The coffin was now making some alarming rattling movements.

Antigone sighed, “We should check on them in the morning in case they shut the lid on themselves and die.”

“Ah they won’t, I added an air vent to the coffin. Standard procedure for coffins that are going to go in a mausoleum so they don’t explode ya know,” Georgie laughed, leading Antigone home with a reassuring pat to the arm. “They’ll be just fine. Besides, it’s about time your brother got well fucked.”

“Georgie, _please_ never say _that_ to me  _again_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my profile for links you can find me at.
> 
> Also there may be more chapters of this in the future? I have a few ideas but almost no time to write so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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